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is made to the body of the work. Copyright 2002,
theGreatxIam

High Fidelity
Part 2 (of 2)
An Anniversary Waltz story
By theGreatxIam

Technically, Nanny was just supposed to care for the
children. That's what they had told the agency. 

But Paula reasoned it wasn't breaking any rules to have
her clean up a bit. After all, the children deserved a
clean house. And of course they had to have clean
clothes. As long as she was running the washer, did it
hurt anyone to have her throw in a few loads of Paula's
and Steve's clothes too?

The garden? Well, that was something Nanny could use to
teach the children about nature. Shopping was an
excellent opportunity for arithmetic lessons.

And there could be no question that Nanny would cook.
They couldn't let the darlings starve, could they? 

The previous nanny had been from England, poor dear,
and therefore no use at all in the kitchen. Indeed,
after a month or two she'd proved to be little use at
all -- she bleached Paula's best clothes and insisted
that was how they did things in the U.K.; she
mistakenly weeded $2,000 worth of lilies ("Cor, mum, I
thought sure them scrawny things should go."); she
tipped the bag boy an extraordinary amount because
American money confused her.

After Paula complained, Steve had no choice but to pay
off the rest of her contract and bring in a substitute.

Nanny Mark II was a great improvement. "In my country,
we are always working hardly," the 19-year-old said in
her fetching accent. "Is no problem to do these little
chores, Mrs. Steve."

Then her smoky eyes would gleam and she'd sweep her
jet-black hair into a bun and glide off to vacuum the
family room or rinse out Paula's hose. Nanny was such a
help, Paula even made an effort to learn her name, but
there were just too many consonants.

So, when Paula walked into the kitchen and saw her
vibrator humming away in a mixing bowl full of batter,
what she shrieked was "Nanny! What the hell are you
doing with my dildo?"

"Dildo?" Nanny looked up. "Is called dildo? I make
pancakes for babies, be back with Mr. Steve in hour. No
-- uh, how you say, whisk? -- so I find this. She was
not work, so I put in batteries."

"What? From where?"

"From pantry, where you keep. Is OK?"

Paula was confused: They had a pantry? But before she
could respond, Nanny went on.

"Works good now, see?" She lifted the vibrator from the
bowl. Blobs of batter flew off, speckling her face and
Paula's. "Oops," she said.

Paula took it from her and clicked the switch to "Off."


"This isn't for stirring ... Mmm," she said, as her
tongue touched a glob of batter. "What did you put in
this?"

Nanny smiled broadly. "You like, Mrs. Steve? Is
mother's recipe. Cinnamon, nutmeg, honey, vanilla. Only
you no have vanilla. I find little bottles by other
sink. Use bourbon. Is good?"

In reply, Paula stretched out her tongue and licked the
dildo. The sweet batter had built-in warmth. Much
better tasting than anything else she'd ever licked off
a rod.

Nanny giggled. Paula handed her the vibrator. The
younger woman shyly flicked her tongue at it, then
grinned. "Better than Mama's," she said. She took
another lick and handed it back.

Paula started her tongue at the base and slid it all
the way to the top, where she closed her lips around
the very tip and sucked it dry.

Nanny's eyes were wide. She took the rod back, opened
her mouth wide and placed it deep inside, holding onto
the bottom with just her fingertips. She pulled it out
slowly, through pursed lips.

Paula was impressed, and hot. When Nanny had pulled the
dildo all the way out, Paula took it and dipped it back
in the bowl. It came out covered in gooey sweetness.

That one she deep-throated, letting the brandy batter
ooze down her throat.

They worked their way through the entire bowl. When
they got near the bottom, they shared them, licking
from either side at once, giggling as their lips
brushed together.

Greedy fingers swept the final bits from the bowl.
Nanny got the very last and put her finger to her lips.
Paula pulled it away and into her own mouth, licking it
clean.

They stood inches apart, panting, staring into each
other's eyes. 

Paula put on a frown. "No more?" 

Nanny's eyes danced. "I see more!"

"Where?"

"There!" The younger woman leaned forward. Her tongue
shot out and captured a fleck of batter from Paula's
cheek.

Paula dimpled, took Nanny's head in her hands and
applied her tongue to the other's nose.

Nanny turned her head sideways and kissed Paula's neck,
sucking off the sweet drops.

Paula sighed as soft lips caressed her. Lapping at the
batter along the young flesh, she brought their mouths
together. Their arms wrapped around each other and
their bodies pressed close as their tongues made
contact.

As slowly as honey drips, they removed each other's
clothes. Paula was proud of her own body, still in
excellent shape from daily exercise. Nanny's body
surprised her. The woman always wore such shapeless,
baggy clothes, Paula had presumed she was hiding
something. A bit of flab around the waist? A flat
chest?

Quite the opposite. If Paula ever got jealous, Nanny's
body might have done it. It was a touch stocky, but
certainly not fat. The skin was pale but oh, so smooth
and unblemished. Most of all, there were no problem
areas -- no knobby knees, no cottage cheese thighs.

There was plenty of time to notice all that as they
explored each other with tongue and touch. Finally,
Paula needed more, and she guided Nanny to the floor.
The tiles were cool and hard, but she was impatient.

Nanny squealed, though. She had landed on the vibrator.
She pulled it out from under her and held it in front
of her face as she turned it on. As it buzzed, Nanny
watched it speculatively. "What you say this does?"

Paula smiled as she took Nanny's hands in hers and drew
the humming dildo to her body. She closed her eyes as
it touched her breast. When it reached her nipple her
hands fell back, but there was no need to lead Nanny
further, anyway.

Paula let the other woman do all the work. The vibrator
came down her stomach and skated along her inner
thighs. Paula spread her legs and it pressed closer to
her slit, closer and closer.

At last it entered. Paula tensed, drawing up her knees,
as it slid deep within her. It was so much better than
when she did it herself. With Nanny in control, she
could surrender to the sensations.

And they were sensations worth surrendering to, liquid
waves of happy warmth that rolled through her entire
body as Nanny drove the vibrator in and out,
occasionally bringing it all the way out and directly
stimulating her clit.

Somewhere along the line Nanny had worked herself on
top of Paula, who used her fingers and tongue to give
back a little of what she was getting.

But that didn't last more than a few minutes, for the 
first in a series of orgasms hit with an intensity that
almost had Paula hitting her head on the tiles. She
counted three distinct surges before everything blended
into one overwhelming tidal wave of ecstasy.

When she came to her senses, Nanny was sitting with her
back to the dishwasher, frantically frigging herself
with the vibrator. Paula didn't wait around for the
finish. She had to shower before Steve got back.

As she left, she saw the mess of dried batter and
smeared secretions they'd left on the floor. That was
all right, she thought. Nanny could clean it up.

---- ---- ---- ----

Steve got the final $200 from the cash machine and met
"Lola" at a McDonald's to retrieve his Rolex. He forced
himself to look calm. If she knew how upset he really
was, she'd probably soak him even more.

And he couldn't afford that. He'd been on a tightrope
for three weeks. Paula watched their bank balance so
carefully that she'd know in a second if he took out a
wad of cash, so he had to restrict himself to his
normal transactions. That meant squeezing out a few
bucks to save the rest.

At the same time, his wife was asking questions about
his missing watch. He had to make up a story about
needing repairs -- warranty repairs, he'd quickly
added, lest he have to come up with a fake credit card
receipt from the jeweler's. He felt like a criminal
sweating out a police investigation.

And it was all Pete's fault. The jerk had called him
right after the hooker left. At least his friend --
ex-friend, Steve reminded himself -- seemed to swallow
the story about the con falling apart before anything
happened. Pete was such a gossip, the story would be
all over town if he'd succumbed.

Which, of course, he had, Steve thought. He even
shivered a little as he remembered the woman's lips on
his cock. If Paula ever knew! What a hypocrite, he told
himself, preaching fidelity and then letting some
stranger give him a blowjob. Cheating on Paula with
their anniversary just around the corner. If he had a
hairshirt, he'd have worn it every second.

Instead of a hairshirt, he had Kurt. His boss had been
riding him even more than usual, it seemed. Crappy
assignments, late hours, niggling complaints. Steve
swallowed it all as punishment, but that didn't stop
him from indulging in occasional fantasies of
bossicide.

Julie, the woman down the hall, she was in the
daydreams too. Five years younger than Steve, almost no
experience and a degree in massotherapy from a school
one step above Hamburger U, but she was technically his
equal. Only technically. Julie always got the good
assignments. Julie got the out-of-town trips. Julie got
to fill in for Kurt during vacations. It just wasn't
fair.

Steve got back to the office five minutes late. His
secretary's eyes narrowed as she saw him. He suspected
her of keeping a secret diary of his comings and
goings. Maybe she was a spy for Kurt. Or even for
Julie.

He closed the door behind him and sagged against it.
God, he was getting paranoid. Just the thought of Julie
and Agnes teaming up was ridiculous, like Mutt and
Jeff. 

Agnes was definitely the mutt. Julie wasn't even the
same species. Six feet tall, most of it legs, with
short black hair that emphasized her long, alabaster
neck and aristocratic cheekbones.

Not bad, if you went for that sort of thing. Or any
sort, he was quick to remind himself, any sort at all
except his own beloved, the mother of his children.

The door suddenly bumped open with a force that almost
propelled him across the room. He came to a stumbling
stop inches from his desk and turned around. Of course,
he thought. Miss Derwent was in the doorway.

"Ms. Rivington to see you, sir." She paused. "Is there
something wrong?"

He was breathing hard, he'd almost driven his knees
into the desk, Agnes had barged in without knocking and
Ms. Rivington -- Ms. Julie Rivington, that was -- was
there to torment him.

"Nothing wrong," he said through clenched teeth.

Julie strode in almost immediately, long legs flashing
through the deep slit of her gray skirt. She was all in
gray except for a pink scarf tied loosely around her
neck. 

Pete, who'd dated her briefly after meeting when he
visited Steve for lunch one day, said the monochromatic
outfits were camouflage, meant to draw the eye to what
was above and below instead of noticing the rather
unremarkable body in between. 

Being reminded of Pete made him wince. The day was just
one joy after another, he thought.

Julie Rivington's visit was not improving his mood,
either. She was nattering on about some nitpicky
changes to nonessential documents pertaining to a
trivial matter. He wanted to tell her to piss off, but
there was a strong chance she'd be his boss some day,
if Kurt didn't find an excuse to fire him first. So he
sat and listened and murmured agreement while picturing
her roasting in hell.

The fantasy was going along nicely when Julie stopped
in mid-sentence, flapped her hand in front of her face
and complained that it was getting a bit hot.

Steve blinked, trying to decide if she'd really said
that or his daydream had jumped the tracks.

Apparently it was in reality. Julie tugged her scarf's
knot apart and even undid a few buttons of her blouse.

It didn't seem all that warm to Steve. He wondered if
his fantasies had taken on powers like a voodoo doll.
If that was the case, he'd stay up nights thinking of
bullets smashing Kurt's chest. The thought made him
smile.

Julie broke into his reverie. "You like the view?" 

Steve took a few seconds to realize she had evidently
taken his smile as a response to what, he almost
blurted out, was not a very impressive cleavage barely
visible through the V of her opened blouse. In fact,
had she opened it even more?

He forced out a denial. All he needed was Julie
thinking he was hitting on him. "No, no," he said. "I
was just ... thinking of something else."

"Are you sure?" She ran a silver fingernail down the
middle of her chest. 

His brow furrowed. That wasn't like Julie. "Yes," he
said, "I'm -- uh, I don't think --"

She had lifted one of her impossibly long legs and
planted a gray suede pump on the edge of his desk,
giving him a clear view all the way to her gray silk
panties.

"Julie -- Ms. Rivington. I don't think that is
appropriate. I --"

She opened more buttons on her blouse. He could see she
wasn't wearing a bra.

The penny dropped.

"Pete put you up to this, didn't he?"

Julie did what he considered a brilliant acting job,
managing to look utterly confused for a few seconds.
Then she stroked a hand up her leg. "I don't know what
you're talking about, Stevie. I'm just feeling ...
hot."

He shook his head in disgust. "Will that asshole never
quit? What does he think I'm going to do?"

Steve leaped from his chair and came around the desk.
"Is this what he thinks?"

He ripped Julie's blouse off her shoulders, exposing
her breasts completely.

"And you!" Steve flipped up her skirt and tugged her
panties down, popping her garters from her stockings.
"What kind of woman would go along with his sick jokes?
You're a slut, you should look like one!"

He had just grabbed her by the arm, ready to throw her
out into the hall and let the whole office see her for
what she was, when a blinding flash went off in his
eyes.

Through a haze, he vaguely made out a bulky figure in
the open door. 

He heard Miss Derwent's cackling voice. "You're busted,
you pervert! I've got the picture right here!"

At the same time, Julie was on her feet. As Steve's
vision cleared, he saw her covering her nakedness with
both hands. Her voice was a shriek that echoed off his
office walls: "He attacked me!"

"What?" Steve stepped back, holding up his hands. "No!
It's all a misunderstanding! I thought Pete had put you
up to --"

A bark cut him off. "Oldham! What the hell is going on
here?"

Steve closed his eyes and thumped a fist into his
forehead. Great. Kurt. There was only one thing missing
from the perfect day.

A blonde head poked over his secretary's shoulder.

Paula's eyebrows were as high as he'd ever seen them.

Steve dropped straight to the floor.

---- ---- ---- ----

"He just fainted," the paramedic told Paula, "but his
vitals are a little irregular. We can take him in for
observation, the doctor says."

She agreed, but turned down the invitation to ride
along to the hospital. Patting Steve's hand, she said
she had a few things to take care of and would go to
him when she was done.

"Or I could call Pete and have him meet you there,
honey. Would you prefer that?"

Steve's eyelids fluttered and closed. 

"He went under again," the paramedic said. "Let's get
moving."

The gurney clattered away. Paula stalked down the hall
and into Kurt's office, ignoring the protests of his
secretary.

Kurt was a Marlboro Man in gray pinstripes. He could
sit in a $2,000 leather chair, like the one behind his
mahogany desk, and somehow look like he was up in the
saddle.

But at that moment he was leaning back, the very
picture of an executive. Paula's abrupt entry didn't
seem to ruffle him one bit.

He greeted her smoothly and waved her into a chair.
"Paula! It's been ages, hasn't it? Since -- well, since
before your husband got his new secretary, of course.
You've been a stranger since then."

"Well, I'm here now." She spread out her arms. "So what
was that scene?"

"Ah, yes. It appears Steve has been sexually harassing
women, I'm afraid. Quite serious."

"Steve? Harassing? He wouldn't harass a fly. You know
this is bullshit."

"Hardly. Well, you saw with your own eyes. He was
practically raping Ms. Rivington."

"That was Julie Rivington? He's told me about her.
She'd do anything if it meant screwing up his career.
She probably faked the whole thing."

"She did a good job of it, if she did. Eyewitnesses.
Oh, and even a photo."

He skimmed a sheet of paper over to her side of the
desk. "It's damning, wouldn't you say?" He leaned even
further back, putting his hands behind his head.

Paula held the printout as if it were radioactive. "Who
took this?"

"His secretary." The corners of his mouth turned up
slightly.

"What? How did she just happen to have a camera?"

"As I understand it, she brought one in for just such
an occasion. It seems your Steve makes a habit of
fucking behind your back, if I may put it crudely. Ms.
Derwent caught him with another woman not long ago.
Apparently he tried to lie, but she could see the
woman's dress right on his floor. Ms. Derwent said she
decided to have a camera ready the next time as proof."

He sat up and put his elbows on the desk. "Ironic,
isn't it? My guess from her description is that Steve
was getting a blowjob that time. Imagine that! In the
office, no less."

Paula found his coyness annoying. "I get the message.
You want in the chair, or on the couch like last time?"

Kurt shook his head. "It's not that simple. This is a
serious accusation. It could mean the end of Steve's
career. This can't be arranged like getting him an ugly
secretary. I can't just wave my hand and make it
disappear."

Paula stared directly into his eyes. She took a deep
breath and let it out.

The things I do for my husband, she thought.

When she spoke, it was flatly, even robotically. "Fine.
I'll fuck you."

Kurt rubbed his tongue along his bottom lip, a habit
that had irked her the last time, too. "Why so gloomy?
I didn't pout when you bargained me down to a blowjob
last time."

Bargained him down? Paula could just spit. All she had
asked was that Kurt come up with a secretary for her
husband who wasn't quite so drool-worthy. Not that she
truly thought she had anything to worry about, but as
one adds years of experience one learns to hedge one's
bets.

And apparently she hadn't hedged enough. If it was
true. If that bitch Julie wasn't conning everyone.
Which seemed ridiculous, if you knew Steve.  He'd even
taken their crazy premarital abstinence vow seriously,
if she could believe what Pete had told her before she
ended their last affair. Still. That butt-ugly
secretary had seen more, Kurt said.

So. That left her with no alternative but to fuck the
sleazeball to save her philandering husband's career --
and his paycheck. 

There was no way out, and no leeway. Even as her mind
filled with anger, she knew she couldn't afford to piss
off Kurt. She had to hold her tongue.

Instead of talking, Paula had been removing her
clothes. She stood before Kurt's desk wearing nothing
but her four-inch-high gold pumps.

He walked around her like a farmer appraising a cow.
The only thing keeping her self-respect from blowing
away was seeing the tentpole in his pants, proof that
she still had it.

Kurt stopped behind her and slapped her lightly on the
ass. "Bend over," he said. "Legs apart."

She watched over her shoulder as he lowered his pants
and advanced. He didn't bother with any preliminaries,
just jabbed his cock at her slit until it forced its
way inside. She was still mostly dry and it hurt as he
tried to force himself deeper, but she bit her lip and
tried to convince herself he wasn't enjoying it either.

He whispered a string of obscenities, apparently a
turn-on for him. Paula shut her eyes and concentrated
on the new curtains she was considering.

Kurt banged away, and eventually her lubrication eased
the friction. But in just another minute he grunted and
strained and shot his wad. Paula stood up, letting him
slip out. She was reaching for her clothes when he
grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. 

"Where do you think you're going? We're not done yet?"

She bit back several comments and said only, "My
husband's in the hospital. Don't you think we could
finish this some other time?"

His reply was lost as the door to his office flew open
and Julie rushed in, then braked sharply, staring at
Paula.

Jabbing a finger at the naked woman, Julie shouted.
"What's she doing here?"

Kurt took a step back, his shriveled cock waggling. "I
can explain, sweetie. I can --"

Tangled in his pants, he fell over backward. 

Paula calmly got dressed as Julie skittered over to her
boss and applied the pointed toe of her shoe to several
vulnerable spots on his anatomy.

His shouts drew a crowd, including his own secretary.
Agnes came squeezing through the jam at the door and
ran up to Julie, trying to pull her away. But when
Julie blurted out what she'd seen, Agnes joined her in
kicking Kurt, who had curled up into a ball. She added
a few wallops with her big black leather purse as well.

Paula, who had just been patting her clothes into place
when the gawkers showed up, stepped around the melee
and spoke to those in the doorway.

"That man exposed himself to me," she said. "You're all
witnesses."

It was perhaps testimony to Kurt's management technique
that every one of the six or seven people at the door
immediately agreed.

But Julie, who turned and looked with shock at the
group, threw up her hands. "You were naked," she
shouted, advancing on Paula.

"I was not."

"Liar!"

Paula turned to the group. "Was I?"

Heads shook.

Julie pulled Agnes off the crumpled Kurt and pointed to
Paula. "She's lying! She -- she -- I get it! She was
trying to seduce him! That slut!"

Julie launched herself at Paula, who stepped aside and
let her go flying past into the crowd, which grabbed
and held her. 

Agnes took a wild swing at Paula with her purse and
missed. Something came flying out, though. Paula
ducked; it hit the wall with a solid thunk.

While a guy from the door immobilized Agnes, Paula
picked up the object -- a shiny digital camera.

She stared at it blankly and looked helpless, which was
her usual method of dealing with technology.

Kurt's secretary, a grandmotherly older woman, took it
from Paula's hand and pushed some buttons. A
bleached-out view of Steve and Julie appeared on the
camera's small screen. 

Then the woman pressed another button. The picture was
replaced with another that also showed a nearly naked
Julie. But in that one, her partner was Kurt. And the
photo was rather dim, with no evidence of a flash.

Julie strained against the hands holding her but was
held fast. Agnes broke free of her guard, but he
tackled her before she could reach the camera.

As Kurt's secretary flipped through several more
pictures of Julie and her boss, gears were turning in
Paula's head. If there was one thing she recognized, it
was ...

"An affair! Julie was sleeping with the boss! That's
why that tramp got so far."

"But I don't understand," the secretary said. "Why did
Agnes have all these -- Oh!"

On the screen was a bright, sharp picture of Julie and
Agnes, arm in arm, on a beach somewhere."

Paula laughed. "They're lesbians," she said. "They're
lovers!"

Agnes struggled, pinned to the floor. "We are not," she
said. "We're sisters!"

In the stunned silence that followed, everyone else's
eyes swung back and forth between tall, leggy Julie and
short, squat Agnes. The two of them only looked back
sullenly.

Finally Kurt's secretary spoke. "A little around the
eyes, I guess."

"And they're both flat as pancakes," the man holding
Julie said.

Julie tossed her head. "All right! Our mother
remarried. Satisfied?"

A voice from the back ventured: "Are you sure you're
not adopted?"

---- ---- ---- ----

Paula ran her hands up her naked body and cupped her
breasts. She shivered as the probing tongue found her
clit. This, she thought, was more like it.

So different, so much better. It had begun with tender
kisses, as wispy as tendrils of smoke. The hands that
undressed her were gentle and patient, stopping to
caress a thigh, trace the contours of her neck.

Then, naked, they had embraced and given in to passion.
Hands everywhere, exploring. Lips pressed together,
tongues entangled, ravenous kisses that almost brought
her to orgasm on their own.

And then that mouth kissing and nibbling its way down
her chest. The sweet anticipation as it got closer,
closer. Circling the spot, raindrops on her softest
skin.

There at last, rubbing along her opening, pushing
through the folds, finding her button.

A finger sliding along her slit, riding along until her
lubrication let it in. Pressing deeper, deeper, making
her writhe, go weak in the knees, collapse against the
wall for support.

Then the mouth pressed to her, the tongue driving in,
fast like a jackhammer, making her see a rainbow behind
closed eyes. Flicking up to her clit, teasing,
tempting.

It crept up on her so stealthily that it was only after
it sprang like a leopard that she realized the climax
had been approaching for so long. It seized her
emotions in its claws and held tight as hot waves
jerked her to and fro.

At last it padded away, leaving her drenched in sweat,
breathing hard. The lips kissed their way through the
sheen and reached her breasts. As her nipples rose, she
felt desire stirring again. She reached out ...

The opening notes of "Stand By Your Man" sounded in
bumblebee tones. "Excuse me," Paula said. "I have to
take this. Remember where we were."

She retreated to the far end of the room and spoke in
hushed tones, rattling off an edited version of recent
events.

"And so," Paula said, "Kurt, Julie and Agnes all agreed
to quit -- with no charges left against you."

Steve's voice came fuzzily over her cell phone. "That's
great, honey. Gee, I'm sorry to put you through all
this."

"No trouble at all, sweetie. I'm just glad we don't
have all this to worry about. I mean, all that time you
thought Julie and Kurt were against you, they really
were! And they planted Agnes with you just to spy. Your
own secretary. Setting you up for that photo, making up
a story about some other woman --"

"Another what?"

"Don't fret. Just some silly story -- like I would ever
believe you would be unfaithful! Oh, and before I
forget, there's more good news. Kurt's secretary has
agreed to work for you!"

"Old Mrs. Withers? That's ... nice. Hey -- does that
mean I'm the boss?"

"Well, not quite yet. I don't think they've made that
decision." She began to tap her foot on the carpet.

"Yeah. I'll bet. Mr. Kiefer will probably pull in some
young hotshot."

"Now, Steve, don't worry. Who knows what could happen?
Anyway, I have to run. You sure you'll be able to get
home OK?"

There was a whine in his voice that Paula chose to
ignore. "Yes," he said, "I can get a cab. But why can't
you get me?"

"I've got just one or two things to do, dear. I'll be
home before you know it. Ta!"

She snapped the phone off before he could reply.
Slipping it into her purse, she got off the couch and
walked across the plush carpet to the big desk,
gleaming ebony with leather inlays. 

She stretched her naked body across the desk. The
white-haired man behind the desk rose, his erect cock
bobbling.

Paula smiled. "Sorry for the delay, Mr. Kiefer --"

"Call me Al."

"Sorry, Al. Now, where were we?"

The end